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Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 369, 4 June 1903, Page 2

even aware of the coldness of the words. ; Mrs Pollard's hands trembled a little, and eke buried them firmly in her apron so that the tremulousness should not show. 'I am glad yen have a proper respect; for me and what I have done, and I hope that your children will behave to. you as you have behaved to yoar own parents.' Gilbert turned his head suddenly. It occurred to him that this expression of his mother's savoured slightly of imprecation rather than of blessing. * Mother,' he said, quickly,»have I not behaved well to you f :» t 'Of yourse; you 'have,'?'answered Mrs Pollard, with the greatest promptitude. • I have nothing to complain of, Gilbert. lam perfectly satisfied.' v. ; \r I ' Then why doeß she speak -as though she were not V said Gilbert to himself, as he marched out of tne"room;'"He was going to have tea at the Lar.es,' and accompany Doriß to church afterwards. Effie, who was so quiet that often overlooked, had been sitting in the diningroom with her aunt and Gilbert, and doing deep in a book had not heard much of the conversation. But the ac- id tone of Mrs Pol.'ard's remarks at length penetrate! t© her brain, and left the. room, she raised her head and contemplated her aunt with" wondering eyes. She was a thoughtful and rather precocious child, who had often wept over the loss of her own mother, and thought enviously of the children she knew who had parents to love and care for them. Now for a moment she had an instinctive feeling of what it must be for a msther to find hfreelf unloved. Mrs Pollard did not speak, did not more, when Gilbert, had gone; but presently one slow tear crept down her withered cheek unheeded, and then another and mother. She sat quite still, with her hands clasped upon her lap, perhaps unconscious of her tears, perhaps hoping they would escape notice. Presently they ceased of themselves, and Effie breathed more freely, A lump had risen in her own throat when she Baw her aunt's spare, elew tears She had wanted to say that she would love her even if Gilbert did not; but she dared not attempt any such display of affecti n; and. it, was probably very fortunate for her that she did not.

In a few minutes, Mrs Pollard-roused herself from the painful reverie into which she had fallen, and called upon Effie to say her hymn—a task which she accomplished so badly, that her new-born love for her aunt was speedily extinguished by the severity of the lecture that she received. Sunday afternoon was a favourite time with Gilbert and Mb betrothed. The engagement had now been formally announced for: some weeks, and Doris's parents seemed quite willing that the wedding should take place in-the spring. • Doris, my sweet,' Gilbert had said,' don't keep me waiting longer than you can help. lam not happy at home. My mother is very good, very fond of me, and all that, sort of thing—but we have not anything in common; and now that; she and I are so much alone together, I feel as if I should go mad! When my father and Hedworth were there, we had plenty of conversation, at any rate j but now we sit in. dead silence. My darling, you must rescue me as soon as you can, or, I will not answer for the consequences.' ' Poer Gilbert! It mu3t be dreary indeed for you. But the little girl— Effie; doesn't she brighten you up P' •No, indeed 1' Gilbert's involuntary shrug of the shoulders told more than be cared to express in words, for Effie's presence was indeed becoming a veritable nightmare to him 1 he could not rid himself of the recollection of all she knew, and of all that he had been obliged to say to her. -■•-..'

'Don't you like her ? v said D.ris quickly. ' I always thought her a dear little thing.' '' 'She is constitutionally timid, said Gilbert. ' And you know how timidity acts in some natures—it tends to make people underhand, cowardly—sometimes even untruthful ' ' Oh, 1 see,' said the girl, with real concern in her tone. 'Poor child! Your mother looks very severe>Gilbert; I dare nay. she comes down :on Effle pretty hard flßometimeß.\ ;-* : _ v * Bffle is a Very good child iu her way,' said Gilbert, almost irritably. ' But when she looks likleir-iika. a frightened rabbit, one 'a vexed in spite of oneself!' 'Oh, yes,, I understand,' said Doris j but she retained for some time the impression that Effii was not to be trusted, and for that reason refrained from saying that she should be taken from school, even in the years to como when she would have found an elder girl very useful in her nursery. Then, a'tar a pause; Bhe resumed the conversation. ;;'You have not heard anything of Hedwortb, have you, dear P' , 'Not a word.'

'Gilbert, you have never told me why you think he left home in that sudden ;way.' -\ They were Bitting in a little boudoir which opened cut of the drawing-room and was generally appropriated to their use on Sunday afternoons. Gilbert was in an arm-chair drawn up to the fire; Doris on a heap of downy cushions at his side. He put out his hand to touch the golden tendrils of her hair before he replied. The room was almost in darkneap, but a pitiful gleam of firelight showed now and then the girl's clear profile, the fair curls upon her forehead, the grace of "her attitude on the cushions at his side. Perhaps it was because she eeemed so enchanting in his eves, that .Gilbert allowed himself to answer lazily:— »i < I should think he could not bear to see my happiness.' . ' But he did not know l\ si*.

«Perhaps he grieved.. 1 havei often thought, Djris, that it may have been one of the reasons for his sudds n disappearance.' ;

V.M should be sorry to think bo,' said Doris softly j * and yet even that would be better than the things people say about himniw!'

,' Wnat do they pay ?' .'Gilbert, don't be vexed, dear. But they have an idea that he must have done something wrong—something disgraceful, or else your father would not have disinherited him, and you would not have borne his disappearance eo quietly.' Gilbert did not know how to reply. (To be continued.)